Her voice is soft, but it echoes inside me like a command.
I watch as she moves in the moonlight, her body pale and luminous, her skin like polished marble, her silver-white hair flowing around her like mist. She is ethereal, untouchable, yet I cannot stop myself from reaching for her.
The moment I touch her, she melts into me, her curves molding against my body like she was made for me. Her fingers trace down my chest, nails dragging lightly over my skin, sending fire through my veins.
"Mine," I growl, my voice rough, possessive.
She smiles, storm-gray eyes filled with something ancient and knowing.
I lose myself in her.
In her warmth, her scent, her body.
I sink into her, feel her pulse race against mine, feel the invisible bond between us tighten, pulling us closer, entwining us in something I don’t understand but cannot resist.
She is home.She is mine.
And just as I give in—
My breath is ragged, my chest heaving as I sit up in bed, running a shaky hand through my hair. Sweat clings to my skin, and beneath the sheets, my body is hard, aching, burning with frustration.
The same fucking dream.
The same white wolf, the same beautiful woman, the same voice whispering ’mate.’
It has been months of this.
Months of waking in a cold sweat, heart hammering, body desperate for something just out of reach.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to steady my breathing, trying to shove away the lingering heat in my veins.
I am not losing my mind.
But I can’t deny that ever since my trip to Oregon, nothing has been the same.
I push off the sheets and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over my face. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows in my penthouse overlook the city, the skyline glittering under the moon.
A world where I belong.
I exhale sharply and push myself to my feet, walking to the bathroom. The mirror reflects a man who should have everything.
Cameron Anderson. CEO. Billionaire. Untouchable.
Yet, night after night, I am haunted by her.
By dreams of running through the forest with a white wolf, of chasing her, of feeling her laughter against my skin.
And when it’s not the wolf, it’s her human form or what I think is her human form.
Naked, flushed, writhing beneath me, calling me mate.
I grip the counter, my jaw clenching.
This isn’t normal.Yet, every night, I feel like something is pulling me, calling me back.Back to Oregon.
Whoever the hell she is.
I throw myself into work, into meetings, into building my empire.
Yet, the dreams don’t stop.
If anything, they get worse.I stop sleeping as much, avoiding rest because I know what awaits me when I close my eyes.
Because who the fuck would believe me?
Who would believe that every night, I dream of running on four legs?That I feel the wind in my fur, the ground beneath my paws, the scent of pine and rain filling my lungs?
That in those dreams, I am not just a man—I am something else. Something more.
And always, always, she is there.
She waits for me, teases me, draws me in.
And when I finally catch her, when I finally hold her in my arms—
Empty. Alone. Aching.
I swear I can smell her and it doesn’t make sense.It’s impossible.Yet, the scent lingers. In my office, in my penthouse, in my car. It follows me like a ghost, curling around me in the late hours of the night when I’m alone.
It’s faint, but undeniable.
Wild, earthy, something both sweet and untamed. Like forest rain and moonlight. Like her.I don’t even know who she is, does she even fucking exist?Yet, I crave her like a drug.
The worst part is, I tried to forget.
I called my usual hookups, the women who always answered. The ones who never asked for more than I was willing to give.
I tried to let their hands roam my body, their lips press against my skin. I tried to lose myself in their touch, in their scent, in the warmth of their bodies.
But the moment one of them touched me, I pulled away.It felt wrong.It wasn’t her.Nothing is.
The dreams haven’t stopped.
If anything, they’ve gotten worse.
They started as fleeting images. Flashes of silver fur streaking through the trees, of laughter carried on the wind, of storm-gray eyes watching me from the shadows.
I feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine. I feel the way her lips part for me, the way she sighs my name like it’s a prayer. I feel the way she moves, the way she fits against me like she was made for me.
I wake up panting, hard and aching, my body on fire with a need I don’t understand.
I avoid rest because I know what’s waiting for me when I close my eyes, it’s affecting my work I often end up snapping at my employees. I throw myself into work, into deals, into anything that will keep my mind occupied.
But the pull is still there.
I feel it in my chest, like an invisible thread pulling me toward something I don’
Every night, I fight it.Every night, I lose.
And every morning, I wake up hard, aching for something I can’t name.